


Re-agent Fueled Flames

by Webtrinsic



Category: Herbert West - Reanimator - H. P. Lovecraft, Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Broken Bones, Carl Hill sucks, Gay Herbert West (Re-Animator), Guilt, Herbert West Being Creepy (Re-Animator), Herbert has some feelings okay, Hurt Daniel Cain, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Daniel Cain, Protective Herbert West, Sad Daniel Cain, Stabbing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: Being kidnapped is a new experience, one that torments him more than Peru, and more than his crush on Herbert West. It's not all bad, it could have been Herbert in his place.
Relationships: Daniel Cain/Herbert West
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Re-agent Fueled Flames

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turdleturdle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turdleturdle/gifts).



> i tortured the crap out of dan and had fun doing it, theres not too much physical whump I've seen in this fandom and even tho I'm a psych torutre kinda whump girl, i need some variety so i wrote it
> 
> also why did i only just apparently find out herbert is canadian

Ever since that fateful day that he’d been introduced to Herbert West, Dan had experienced more things than he certainly had in his formative years. If he’s entirely honest, Herbert’s influence makes it feel like he’s doing them all over again. Not only had he seen and helped try and reanimate the dead, been witness not only to murder but mind control, Daniel Cain had worked through war, and had even been stabbed. Being kidnapped on the other hand, was a new experience. One that riddled him with terror. 

As peculiar as it was to say, it was easier to deal with corrupt cadavers. Their mindlessness rages something he’d become accustomed to dodging and evading. Now, whoever had him tied to a chair and effectively gagged, well there was intelligence. Calculations in effect not only to bring him here but also keep him here. Motives he didn’t know that weren’t just a cadavers impulse to tear and eviscerate whatever’s in front of them.

Whoever they were grabbed him during a supply run...Herbert was probably waiting down in the basement furious. Dan can’t even refute his freaky little scientist that if he went out to get his own supplies this wouldn’t have been a problem. Except if it had been Herbert, then it possibly could be him here. Restrained to the point of numbness and clueless as if to why.

If it’d been the other way around Dan at least knows he’d have gone to search him out. It’s pathetic that he has to question if Herbert would come and try to gather him. 

Dr. West continuously remarked that he was invaluable, there was no better assistant, except Dan could pass that all off as he already knew too much and Herbert didn’t have the patience to seek out someone new. It was for the better that he was here instead. For selfish reasons and in the least self-deprecating way possible: Herbert was the greater loss.

The second they’d met the two of them had been the epitome of the transcendental twin flame. He’d fallen in love, and he’d in some way ensnared Herbert. Regardless Dan almost wishes he’d turned the man away. The journey of the twin flames were fraught with peril that would guarantee remarkable results. So long as both parties were willing to fight for it. How could he anymore when it was obvious Herbert was fighting for the reagent and not for him?

Long ago when his father had been under the throes of liquor and his mother kept pestering him to knock it off. A show of actual wisdom blessed the drunk man’s features. His freshly poured glass twirled in his fingers before he slid the glass across the countertop right in front of him.

He’d been seven years old, staring at that glass, before looking at a father who he knew loved him despite his crippling coping mechanisms.

“A glass is always safest in front of one who wouldn’t drink it,” it’d been a lot for him to take in then, and there were points in his life the advice had made sense. Dan knew he drank that glass the second he let Herbert move in. Then another when he helped re-animate the corpses in the morgue. He was tipsy by the time they had to do the same with Dean Halsey, and Dan was far past the legal limit by the time they were in Peru.

Dan knew there were times that is was just too much to ask yourself to face the same person twice. He knew that well because his backbone had effectively been broken by Doctor West, leaving him paralyzed in the man’s grasp. Wrong and right all the same. The uncertainty monsterous.

His mind had been changing, there is no perseverance of character at war, he’d fought in two. In fact he was still fighting in that second one. Everyday. Every second he walked on a earth riddled with his losses and the knowledge of what a scientist’s neon green syringe could do.

“Doctor Cain,” a voice called out, the voice recognizable not only in his nightmares but in his disjointed memories. Dragging footfalls approached from behind, and his strained neck could only turn so far to get a glimpse of the bastard. Hill’s’ head has been reattached to a new body, one that hadn’t been deteriorated by Herbert’s administered overdose. 

Any normal person would be scared, he _should_ be petrified, he wasn’t. Anger and satisfaction were the only true emotions in his now fully alert brain. Anger for what this man had done and relief that Herbert wasn’t anywhere near the murderous Hill. Dan wondered who was more afraid, Hill of Herbert, or Dan of Hill’s intentions (for Herbert that is). Daniel doesn’t know what he’d do if he had to stand over Herbert’s lifeless form in the way he’d stood over Meg’s.

“I knew I had to get rid of you but it was an oversight on my part that I didn’t do it sooner,” The re-animated Dean Halsey had been nowhere near enough to be rid of him. The small head wound Herbert had deemed ‘alright’ really had been alright in the end. Nothing lethal, nothing that night, even the cuts in bruises from the other corpses hadn’t been life threatening, at least not to him.

With his mouth out of use, Dan could only glare. His jaw clenching with a snarl that wouldn’t escape the bottom of his throat.

“As upset as I was with you, I had originally planned on making your demise quick. You don’t deserve that kindness anymore, neither does that insufferable West,” The mention of the scientist's name in his mouth has Dan jerking in his seat, the skin on his wrist splitting under the creaking rope. His ankles are the same, bloody and riddled with rash hued a deep red, inflamed and bruised. Hill takes in the sight and the smell of iron and copper with greed.

Dan braces himself for more pain, not making it any better when it arrives. There’s a blow to the side of his head and it’s enough to discombobulate him, to split the skin of his brow and send it raining down the side of his face.

Whoever’s body the man had under his control was significantly stronger than what he had before, because the backhand that followed the initial blow split his lip and nearly dislocated his jaw. 

The blood under his skin rushed to the spot, already causing it to bruise. Dan doesn’t get to ponder further if this torture would be emitted by the man’s hands alone because the hunting knife the bastard procures from seemingly out of nowhere answers that.

It’s only human that the glint of the knife is what startles him. Memories of Peru ricocheting in his brain, the phantom pain of the bayonet in his gut a physical nuisance.

Swallowing down the spikes of fear, the attempt is immediately undercut by the blade plunging into his thigh. The feeling of it scraping his bone is otherworldly, the friction making a sickening crunch and squelch from within that will likely live forever in his eardrums. Whether or not Hill heard the sound is unimportant. The old cadaver laughs nonetheless.

It gives with slight resistance on the way out, there’s a line in his bone and he’s in too much of shock to even scream. His lungs are freezing in his chest. Dan can feel each inhale and exhale through his nostrils shifting the sacs in his chest. His panic makes air elusive as the knife comes back down, back into the already opened wound, back into the groove he was creating in his femur. 

It twists making the doctor's eyes fall back into his head, wailing through the cotton in his mouth. Sweat and blood are coating his face, his back is overheating enough for his flannel to stick to him, and it’s quickly becoming the same on his chest. His thigh is stained with crimson, the jeans unsalvageable. There’s a distant ringing in the background, it grows as Hill’s maniacal laughter rises in delight of his pain.

The static tone overcomes that too when the blade is removed and shoved into his shoulder. Dan starts to wonder if that man is consciously aiming for the knife to graze his bones because his collarbone takes to the knife with less gusto than his femur had. The bone crackles and it is broken, if not fully broken, it’s chipped or in the very least fractured.

Dan can’t catch a breath this time to even make a noise, he seethes through his teeth unsteadily instead. The movement of his diaphragm jostled the lodged knife in his shoulder. His good leg now jumping in an attempt to distract himself from his agony, except it does nothing more than aggravate his injuries further. His ankle is being rubbed raw, worse than before, and Dan only now realizes Carl has apparently taken his shoes off. Blood spots the material of his socks and the dampness overtaking his clothes further adds to his discomfort.

Hill moves to remove the blade only to fall short, something passes over his face until he is the picture of calm collectiveness once again. 

Standing straighter, the displaced man looks deep into Dan’s eyes. There is something in his gaze that Dan can’t turn away from. Almost physically he can feel a hand reach out into his mind, grasping it with a firm hand to drag it towards submission.

“How do I make the re-agent?” the fingers dig into the folds of his brain, praying for something Dan will never readily give. Carl Hill had mind control, but Herbert had a hold over Dan’s heart. As a doctor he knew full well it wasn’t truly the heart that made decisions, it was always the brain. But if his heart said no, if some part of his brain, his amygdala, said it was loyal to Herbert West. Well, Hill could do whatever he liked and he wouldn't be giving in.

It didn’t take very long for Hill to realize this because with one firm last squeeze that solidified Dan’s headache, it let go.

“He’s not coming for you,” the words are gravelly, that is expected with his severed vocal chords. It’s the tone that’s more disturbing than the words themselves, his own thoughts had lessened the blow. The voice itself disturbs him because it’s what Meg had to hear on her last day on earth. It’s what Hill wanted Herbert to hear, and it may very well be the last one he hears as well.

That’s alright, he’d rather listen to the bastard so Herbert didn’t have to. In actuality the Canadian man probably would have tuned Hill out entirely, the thought of that nearly makes him laugh with utter glee. Even without him present the utter bastard that completely derailed his life continues to amuse him.

The twin flame, they were twin flames. That fact burrowed into his brain, sitting there peacefully, tethering him to something manageable while Hill staggered away. It would be little reprieve, there was still a knife rooted through bone and piercing skin. The adrenaline that had been running through his veins had come to a halt. 

He knows exactly why he thinks of it now, something he normally wards off like the devil, but he almost wants to plunge the re-agent into his veins. He figures if it’s enough to not only stave off hunger and sleep, it had the potential to banish his suffering. At least it had in the past, no matter what Herbert had said, he knew when he’d been stabbed in Peru and the pain had been dulled by apparent leftover morphine that they’d ran out a week ago.

His theory had only been proven right when the man couldn’t stop shivering after (meaning he’d used his own stash on him). Dan had been on the cusp of healing and fatigued to the point of delirium, even still he always noticed Herbert. He had to, it’s what kept them alive, even if Herbert contested that fact. Dan knew it to be true. It had nothing to do with Dan’s need to feel needed.

Hill returned then, a small mallet in his off colored hands, any normal person would have passed it off as a tan, not Dan though, not Dan who knew he was utilizing a whole other body.

It did little good for Dan to act brave, he was already debauched from pain and diminished with his prone form bound and slashed. 

The mallet twirled in Hill's grasp before it struck the knife, careening it sideways in his chest, further splintering Dan's collarbone.

His temples were pooling with sweat and the different weight between the sweat and blood on his temple fascinated him for a split second. Hissing, Dan fought the urge to push his head down knowing it would only push the broken off blade further within. The urge was forgotten as the mallet came back down on his thigh wound, lightning stole him.

A swing, two broken ribs. Another, strained muscles, broken capillaries. More bruised ribs, a further broken collarbone, and one last hit. One last swing to the scar on his abdomen that makes Daniel’s teeth dig into the fabric to the point it tears.

He doesn’t know when he started to cry, likely longer ago than he’d cared to notice, but he feels it now because with his head tilted the salty liquid fell into his split open lip making it sting.

“Good riddance Doctor Cain,” 

Dan’s eyes close in acceptance, his only regret that he won’t be there to warn Herbert or even protect him. 

Dan can feel the air shift as the man raises the mallet to bring it back down, except it didn’t. A twang pierced the air and for a minute Dan thought it was the breaking of his own skull, until he opened his eyes and saw Hill headless once again, and the mallet wielding body tumbled to the ground from a kick.

For a man who took more after the devil or a god, Herbert looked like an angel with a rusted shovel in his hands and a wild manic grin stretched across his face. The smile dropped instantly when he met his gaze. The scientist rushed to his side, hands hovering as if he didn’t know where to place them or even begin to treat.

Dan briefly recalls the frantic doctor in Peru tending to his injuries. He’s more concerned now and Dan doesn’t blame him.

“It’s alright,” Herbert stammers, not sounding like he believes it, that alone is off putting. Herbert’s always sure. 

“You’re going to be alright Daniel,” the tone of his voice varies and cracks, rising slightly in pitch that merely cracks a smile out of Dan.

Everything burns, his body aches, he’s in hell but that’s okay because Herbert’s there. Dan could survive hell so long as he had his company, he knew that. Maybe more than he knew anything else. Dan is pretty sure he passes out when Herbert removes the rope, only truly waking up as the gag is being pulled out from the spaces between his teeth. Herbert is so close, so close that Dan can’t help the pull of his gaze, from the man’s full lips, and then to his hazel eyes shielded by large frames.

“I’m in love with you,” it hurts to speak, his jaw purple and lungs breathless at the sight of the scientist's beauty and the damage to his own torso. 

He sees then something in the man’s posture and expression shift, tears welling up in hazel eyes and falling, the dark haired man’s head careening forward limply, right onto the knife buried within his skin.

Dan gasps and snarls at the contact causing Herbert to fall back before he righted himself again, tears openly breaking down his perfect face as he unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt, repulsed at what he finds.

“Danny,” Herbert whimpers, shoulders tensing when he sees the bruising and mayhem doesn’t stop there. With haste he’s unbuttoning the rest of the green and black checkered flannel, heaving to taper down his rage at the sight of his mottled chest.

“You’re going to be alright,” it’s an autopilot response, one he was told when being tutored on hospitality, it’s really the only thing that’s ever stuck. If Dan’s loopy smile meant anything, he’d continue with it.

The ad nauseum continues until Dan is repeating it back under his breath before he is stolen from consciousness entirely.

* * *

Considering the sheets under him are clean and they are the same sheet’s he left that morning, with added blankets that is. Ones he’s sure belong to Herbert and the others stolen off the back of the couch and the chairs downstairs. Hebert hadn’t operated on him here. More likely than not he’d been fixed up on the same table they placed their experiments.

His wounds flared begging for acknowledgment but there was no pain he felt, weight and strain on the other hand bore him down. There was a question if it was the re-agent or other drugs making him high, he wouldn’t ask. He actually didn’t think he could even move his mouth. 

His eyes fluttered back closed in time for the door to open, soft footsteps approached and a freezing hand pressed to his overheated forehead. Dan was helpless not to at least try to press back into the touch.

“Danny?” The man’s voice quivered with sudden alertness at his movement, and Danny peaked open an eye in response. The breath the shorter man lets out is a clear sign of relief, it helps Dan more than the blankets do when it comes to comfort.

Herbert’s movements are hesitant and shaky, the ineptitude to his actions endearing, especially as he leans in and places a peck to Dan’s hairline. The doctor's eyes close again at the act, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, pulling painfully at his healing lip and battered jaw.

“You’re alright now,” Herbert assures, “Called us out of work, had to use a fine portion of our vacation days,” he doesn’t sound that happy about that fact but they both know there’s no helping it.

“Thank you,” the words are heavy on his cotton tongue, and Herbert’s shushing him while the words hit the air. His brow creasing and fingers twitching, Dan has a feeling Herbert wants to put a physical hand over his mouth or better yet cover his own ears. He didn’t want to be thanked and Daniel wants to know why. The imploring gaze he tried to muster isn’t met with an answer, Herbert just sweeps his thumb across his cheek, tentatively lowering his chin to rest atop Daniel’s head.

The re-animator doesn’t want a thank you, not when it took him so long to realize his...friend had been gone, and then spending far too much time angry when he could have been searching. He should have destroyed Hill’s head in the first place, he shouldn’t have thought his arch nemesis would make a good test subject. Freshest corpse be damned.

Gratitude and platitudes meant nothing when there was an apology in order. He’s never been any good at them, this time is different, the words force themself out in fear that if they don’t they never will.

“I’m sorry my love,” Dan melts under his hands, the action apparently a harborer of acceptance that Herbert doesn’t deserve but reaps nonetheless. The good doctor falls asleep again under Herbert’s careful, attentive, watch. And in the middle of the night when the pain flares and he cries in his sleep, Herbert is ready with a glowing syringe to make it all go away.

**Author's Note:**

> Snap: allisonw1122  
> Tumblr/twitter: webtrinsic1122  
> Insta:Webtrinsic


End file.
